


The Luck I've Had

by kenzeaye



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Universe, Drama & Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-18
Updated: 2017-10-14
Packaged: 2018-11-15 17:35:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11235885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kenzeaye/pseuds/kenzeaye
Summary: "I know it's a lot to ask, I know it's not my place…but will you? Will you look after her? Will you take care of her, even if it means risking your life?" Armin's face was even and self-possessed as he waited for Jean's response, but his eyes were imploring. Jean looked away. Now he understood. At long last, he replied in a mutinous tone. "Just try and stop me."Canon universe. Post-S1 re-write of the anime/manga with a Jeankasa spin. Includes Eremika.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this story is going to follow the anime until the end of season two, and will then diverge and follow the manga since that's the only source material that is currently available and I don't feel like waiting 2,000 goddamn years to write this thing until the anime is done. I'm also treating the OVA as canon because it has a lot of great Jean backstory and this is my fic, so I make the damn rules.

" _See, the luck I've had_  
_Can make a good man_  
_Turn bad_  
_So please, please, please_  
_Let me get what I want  
__This time"_

\- The Smiths

* * *

"Man, this life sucks…Had I known, I should've told her…"

In retrospect, it seemed somewhat inappropriate. Sitting on the rooftop in Trost, out of gas and out of time, the baked clay tiles squeaking under the rubber soles of his boots, he should have been thinking about his family, the people of his hometown. Instead, he was thinking about her. He was always thinking about her.

Besides, he hated those sons-of-bitches from his hometown. For living in a relatively populous district town, they all still behaved like a bunch of country bumpkins. He wasn't like them—he never was, but now especially he was certain he had set himself apart. He graduated 6th in his class. Soon he'd be living in the interior—well-fed, surrounded by bourgeoisie comforts and urbane citizens endowed at birth with effortless savoir faire. The people of Trost would become a distant memory, and so would any thought of him ever being one of them. That's what he kept telling himself anyway.

He lay in bed a night, his thoughts constantly alternating between two things—the rueful victory he would soon have over his humble beginnings…and _her_. He was aware, despite being 1st in their class, that she had no intention of joining the Military Police. Surely she'd be following that idiot Yeager into the Scout Regiment. It was another thing Jean despised Eren for—the fact that Mikasa would likely perish at a young age as a direct result of joining the Scouts, which, of course, she would not be doing were it not for Eren.

But knowing this, Jean had yet to deal with the reality that, in a few short days, he and Mikasa Ackerman would join different regiments and go their separate ways. The Military Police rarely operated outside of Sina, and the Scouts spent all their time venturing outside. There was no realistic expectation that their paths would ever cross again, and the idea was so gut-wrenching, he had blotted it from his mind entirely.

But now, the gas was gone out of his tanks and the ground had run out from under his feet. He had to simultaneously face both certain death and the idea that, in the unlikely event of his survival, he would be bidding an unceremonious farewell to the only person on the planet he ever looked forward to seeing.

He hated life. He hated Trost. He hated everything and everyone. Everything in life was stupid to him. But he liked her. In fact, he thought maybe he loved her. He'd never been in love before, so it was hard to know. He just knew, in his young life, he'd never felt this way before. And if he survived today he knew he would soon feel something entirely new: a broken heart.

He'd resigned himself to that from the start. The umbilical cord between she and Yeager didn't stretch far enough to allow him to squeeze in between them, and he had no earthly idea how to go about cutting it. He supposed only Eren could do that. Still, you don't choose who you love, and his agony was too blissful, too tantalizing to deny. So he swam in it, swam deep and freely, and enjoyed it while he could, knowing afterward his heart would harden and dry out forever like the pit of a fleshy fruit, smashed on the cobblestone, left out in the sun.

But that didn't happen. He survived Trost and joined the Scouts. Not even for her. He'd done it for himself. He wanted to be a worthy person. That's the best way he could think to explain his decision. In spite of the status he would gain, he suspected somewhere deep down that joining the Military Police would make him hate himself in the end. And since he hated most things, it didn't seem like he could afford to hate himself.

Although his choice had ultimately been unrelated to his desire to be near her, Jean made a deal with himself on the ride over to the abandoned castle that was to be Squad Levi's new homebase, on the 104th cadet corps' first day in the Scout Regiment: assuming he and Mikasa were both still alive in six months and he hadn't worked up the nerve sooner, he'd tell her everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I cannot believe I'm starting a new multi-chapter fic when I've been so horribly neglectful of my others, but here we are. Something came over me yesterday, and I realized I had fully crossed over from being an Eremika shipper, and had hopped firmly onto the Jeankasa train. I think it was the Jeankasa hug from the 2nd Escape from Certain Death teaser that pushed me over the edge. I find Jeankasa to be a woefully underrepresented couple, and I intend to mine this ship for all of its worth. Enjoy! Read and review!


	2. I Have My Pride

He snuck a peak. He knew he shouldn't have, knew he was twisting his own knife, but he couldn't help himself. As Jean left Eren's room, he glanced over his shoulder, saw them sitting there alone, just the two of them. His mood darkened. He wanted to stay. To prevent the hushed exchange he surmised would be transpiring once everyone was gone. He'd already been subjected to the sight of Mikasa sitting intently at Eren's bedside for hours on end. Now this.

Five months. The clock was ticking. His self-set deadline wouldn't mean any of this would stop, but at least afterward he could no longer be ignored. He was tired of being ignored. It was bad enough that the world was indifferent to his existence, but to have the object of your affections take no notice of you at all...it set his teeth on edge. If he could yell at someone about it, he would. Maybe that's why she didn't like him. Too hot-headed, too self-involved.

No. Eren was both of those things, and she didn't seem put off by it. In fact, it often seemed to deepen her concern for him.

So what was it? What was it about Yeager that had her so damn _captivated_? She babied him so much, sometimes it was hard to even know the nature of her feelings. Did she love the guy or was he just like a weak little brother that she had to protect? Had the Titan attack they'd experienced in their youth so traumatized her that she was stuck in the same feedback loop forever, unable to think about anything else but keeping Eren from harm?

He had to know.

He eyed the towheaded ingénue at his side. Armin would be the only other person who might possibly know, and if he asked right, Jean doubted he'd be too terribly averse to sharing. Armin was a nakedly honest, open soul. He might find it untoward to speak about another person's private affairs, but Jean was certain it could be coaxed out. The only question would be whether or not he, Kirstein the Tactless, was deft enough to do it without raising Armin's hackles. If Armin suspected his motives were impure, his lips would seal now and forever.

He contemplated as they strolled the breezeway, Armin's attention caught by two ducks in flight, passing over the wall.

Maybe being casual was the wrong approach. If Armin could keep a secret, maybe candor was his best option. Armin might appreciate the sincerity and take pity on him—not that he cared to be pitied. Or the whole thing could blow up in is face. There had been so much hostility between he and Eren over the last few years, Armin might suspect he was only looking to take something precious away from Eren.

This was quite a maze he'd created for himself. So much for his claim to bluntness and honesty.

If he enlisted Armin's help, he knew couldn't go off half-cocked. If he tried to be cagey, Armin wouldn't respect that, and he would get nothing. But if he was wildly confessional, maybe that would be enough to do the trick.

This. This is what Marco was talking about. This insight into the snake-brain part of the human psyche. Sure, he was an emotional infant in so many ways, but he was a survivor, with specific expertise on covering his own ass. That made him a bonafide goddamn genius when it came to risk assessment, even if sometimes it left him feeling like a scurrying little cockroach, still sniffing around in the dirt after the whole world had ended.

They were almost to their destination. His window was about to close.

"Armin." He startled the tiny blonde.

"Yes, Jean?"

"I need your help with something."

"What is it?" Poor Armin. He was already frightened. Jean knew was it was like to be scared all the time, but he didn't know what it was like to be so helpless, too.

"We'll discuss it later. After dinner."

"O-okay." Armin looked grim already. They continued in silence a moment longer.

"Jean? Sorry. I-is it about Mikasa?"

The floor dropped out from under him. Jean stopped in his tracks. He looked at Armin for a long time, shocked. He knew the kid was smart, but damn, he didn't know he was _this_ smart. If only he were stronger, he'd be taking Erwin's job in no time flat.

"Sorry. I just…I know how much you like her."

Jean wanted to find the nearest rock, and crawl under it as fast as possible. Being a cockroach didn't seem so bad right now. That feeling he got, the one that made him hide under his bedsheets alone in his room, it crashed down on him hard, like the waves of all the oceans he'd never seen and had only heard about.

But this was what it was all about. He had to commit. He'd wanted it to be on his terms, wanted a chance to rehearse first. He hadn't expected to be put on the spot like this. He hadn't the time enough to build the wall of words to counterbalance the shame and embarrassment and humiliation at being reduced to coming at Mikasa through her friend. Every fiber of his being was screaming: run, hide, _deflect_. But he had to confront himself. This was part of the deal. When you start inviting people into your life, you can't control what will happen.

"I…she…I wish I could tell her."

Armin opened his mouth to speak.

"Arlet! Kirstein! Get moving. You're keeping everyone waiting."

Both boys hopped to, quickening their pace, following the petty officer into the Stohess municipal offices.

Jean couldn't look at Armin. He knew he was pathetic and he despised pathetic people.

* * *

She was pathetic.

She didn't often acknowledge it, but she felt it as she clutched Eren's hand, her head dropped, unable to even meet his eyes. She saw herself, hunched over, physically overcome. Weak. He was her only weakness.

Eren.

She could slay a horde of Titans, she could scale all the walls and fight through the wild unknown of the exterior, all the way to the edge of the earth and back, and as long as he was alright, she could make it. She didn't need anything else.

But.

" _Cut the crap, Mikasa! Quit freaking out like everyone else!"_

The ache in her forehead couldn't possibly still be there after all this time, but she felt it. She rubbed it abstractly. Eren had fallen back asleep a little while ago. She turned away from him for just a moment, looking out at the setting sun, dust motes dancing in its rays.

She turned back. He'd never hurt her physically like that before. It was an accident, but…she would have liked it better if he said so. She knew he was sorry, knew he simply saw her the same way he saw someone like Jean who he traded blows with when they were running hot, knew she could take it.

But.

She didn't want to be Jean. Or Armin. Or anyone else. She wanted to be Mikasa. It would be nice to be seen.

She wouldn't demand it. She wouldn't withhold. Her dedication to him was unconditional and it would never stop. He couldn't burn her out or drive her away. He couldn't make her feel foolish for caring. He was all that she had in the world, and she planned to keep him.

But…maybe if he said something, just once…

She'd feel much better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I've been writing long, thoughtful, portentous character pieces for so long, this little melodrama is supremely enjoyable and rather easy to churn out, even if it is horribly indulgent. R&R, people!


	3. All Fall Down

"Eren! Mikasa! This is really bad. The Titans. They're inside Wall Rose!"

Armin and Jean were barely seated when an officer burst through the heavy oak door, informing the room of the Titan sighting inside the walls. Armin turned to Jean. Jean turned to him. They both turned to Erwin. A moment of silence overtook the room and then the orderly flow of militarized chaos began.

Then Armin was running. His bones were aching. His soul was aching. He still hadn't fully recovered from his fight with the female titan. Jean was running beside him now, just as he had been in that fight.

He wasn't a bad guy, as much as he tried to be. Nor was he the coward he probably hoped he could be. He was actually quite brave. But being brave with your heart was something different entirely.

When time and circumstance permitted, if the day ever came again, Armin would try to help him. But their idle days in the training camp were long over. Now just wasn't the time.

* * *

Sunday. Cleaning day. The only day the cadets had off from class and training. The first four hours were spent cleaning the barracks, the mess, and the kitchen. Then the afternoon was theirs.

Armin had always felt a little guilty about it. He knew the field hands worked 12 hours a day, seven days a week. Having the luxury of downtime made him feel uncomfortably privileged. But even the military understood that social time was essential to teamwork. Unless you were Jean and Eren.

"You can't move the piece that way!"

"Why not? If you're not paying attention, what does it matter?"

Eren gasped. "You've been doing this all along!"

Jean laughed. "Of course I have! That's how you win!"

Eren stood and pounded the table. The flimsy chessboard bounced in response, and the cheap, lightweight chesspieces tipped over and scattered. Jean stood now too, swiping the board and any still-standing pieces to the floor.

"Jeez, not this again." Connie laid his cards on the table and yawned, stretching as he stood. "I fold."

Armin watched helplessly as Connie took leave of them, hands tucked in his pockets, stepping out of the dim rec room into the bright afternoon sun. Armin turned to Mikasa, the only remaining player in their now abandoned card game, hoping in vain she had some wisdom to provide. She simply closed her eyes and remained silent.

After the first year, the cadets of 104 had grown very weary of Eren and Jean's unending pissing contest. Armin was hoping at some point each of them would simply learn to avoid the other, but their notorious tempers and long history of emotional outbursts made it so that rarely would anyone else consent to play them. They were stuck with each other.

Noticing that he and Eren succeeded in clearing the entire rec room, with only Armin and Mikasa remaining, Jean sunk back in his seat, appearing slightly embarrassed. But Eren wasn't ready to make nice.

"Find a new fool to play your tricks on from now on, you shit." And with that, he stormed toward the door. Armin felt Mikasa stir, as if preparing to follow him. Eren, with years of developed instinct on the matter called back without looking. "And don't follow me!"

Then he was gone. Armin felt Mikasa shift again, relaxing back into her previous position, the weight of her movements suggesting something like disappointment.

Even Armin had had enough. He stewed for a moment. "Jean. Do you really think it's okay to cheat?"

Jean's chin was resting on his knuckle as he gazed out the open window, expression neutral. "I wasn't cheating."

"Huh?"

"I threw the game because I was losing."

"That's no way to go about doing anything." Mikasa's voice cut through the room unexpectedly. Both Jean and Armin were taken aback. Mikasa rarely commented on the goings-on of her fellow cadets. Expending energy on such childish things was beneath her, and she behaved according to that opinion.

Jean's face shifted slowly from surprise to hurt. Mikasa didn't seem to notice. "If you worry that much about the appearance of failure, then don't fail."

She stood, moving toward the door, her steps light and graceful, contrasting starkly with her clipped, matter-of-fact way of speaking.

Jean finally piped up weakly. "Everyone fails sometime."

She pivoted, peering at him through the fringe of her bangs. "Exactly. You'll fail sometimes. But you'll still be Jean when it's over."

Armin watched Jean watching Mikasa, bore witness to Jean's wide, pleading eyes following Mikasa's every movement as she turned and passed through the open doorway, as if carried by the fragrant spring breeze. Once she'd gone, Jean turned back to the window, tracking her progress across the yard until she disappeared. After awhile, he dropped his head, smiling to himself in a private moment.

The spell was broken once he realized Armin was still there. Embarrassed, he quickly scrambled to his feet and departed, leaving Armin alone in the vacant rec room to replay the events of the last five minutes.

It was not the first incident of its kind he had witnessed—his memory was peppered with small comments and meaningful looks that he had taken note of over the years—but it was most certainly the firmest confirmation. Jean had a crush on Mikasa…and Mikasa would probably never care enough to notice.

"Poor Jean."

Armin could not help the enormous empathy he had for others. He could not watch people being tormented or abused or even slightly embarrassed. His heart always went out to them. He felt that, inside, all people were tiny, fragile creatures in need of delicate care and attention. He'd even felt bad for the bullies that had mistreated him as a child, knowing they were neglected street kids that had never been taught right from wrong.

He knew all this about himself, knew that so many others like Ymir or Connie or even Reiner thought of this deep empathy as a profound weakness. Jean, too, would probably laugh in the face of such lachrymose sentiments.

Nevertheless, Armin felt for him. This life they were leading afforded little in the way of emotional contentment. The simple act of taking joy in the presence of another person had become such a luxury. The idea that such a thing was still possible…it heartened him. It gave him hope for humanity's survival.

But time passed. Nothing happened, and soon it was simply another part of the quotidian, its meaning eroded by the slow-moving sands of time. But sometimes, in the daily blur of work, training, and study, between moments of worry and calls of duty, Armin saw the image of Jean's private smile in his mind's eye, and he felt a fleeting swell of calm wash over him.

If there was hope for Jean Kirstein, there was hope for us all.

* * *

He'd been here before.

Eren woke, the slant of the afternoon sun immediately disorienting him. What day was it? What time, what place? What world?

The eerie prism of déjà vu shattered the image in front of him, folding it into memories of long-gone days. A field of flowers, Mikasa hovering above him…not quite an angel…almost like a benevolent ghost.

He sat up. She was still here. She was always here. And for the first time in a long time, it didn't feel like a burden. It was a comfort. His eyes moved across her lap.

The scarf. He could not have known when he twirled it around her, flicking the end over her shoulder in his childish coarseness, that she would come to cherish it the way she did.

He pushed himself out of bed, standing amongst the gauzy window drapes. They were only kids then. He'd just done what he had to do, and told her to do the same. She thought too much of him. He didn't mean to be unkind. He was just an idiot. They were both idiots.

She shifted, the scarf slipping from her hands. He reached for it, holding it for the first time in forever, the sense memory pulling him into a past he wished she could forget.

She looked up at him, apprehensive, a look of fear in her eyes, as though he might rip it to shreds. He supposed he had earned that.

"That's…"

"It fell." He handed it back, still focused on her weary, sad eyes.

"You gotta be tired. Go get some sleep."

"Sorry. I'm fine." It hurt him a little that she felt the need to apologize. It hurt him even more to see her rubbing the threadbare scarf so lovingly though it had only been gone for a few seconds.

"That thing's seen better days. I'll get you a new one if I see any in our supplies."

She said nothing, but he could sense her mood had shifted downward. He began to process—

"Eren! Mikasa! This is really bad."


	4. King of Pain

"Jean-boy, you're home so early."

He knew he wouldn't be able to sneak past the kitchen, so he didn't even try. Instead he sprinted as fast as he could up the stairs, locking his door behind him. Maybe this time she'd get the hint.

He slumped against the hard oak and sighed, the tension of the day's events seeming to unravel at his feet, pulling his chin toward his navel. A brownish-red stain stared up at him from the cuff of his white shirt, and its mere presence felt like an indictment. He wiped his upper lip again, more flecks of dried blood falling away. Screw it. Another one to add to mother's mending pile.

He knew what she would say. He heard every grating syllable blooming in-between his ears, rattling his skull.

_When did you become such a problem child?_

She wasn't wrong exactly. The last four years had been a long series of conflicts that had now grown so frequent, he felt he was at war with the entire world. He didn't really know how it started. It just sort of happened. Kids were mean to him, so he was mean back. They hurt him, so he hurt them back. It was just that simple.

But if he closed his eyes and turned back, focusing on the vanishing point of the long road that lay behind him, dim and without end, he could remember that it wasn't _always_ like this. He didn't used to be this angry. It used to make him sad, how cruel they could be...and the more it seemed to hurt, the more cruel they were. But that's how he learned…

This was a cruel world.

But his mother just didn't get it. She didn't see how much he had changed. He wasn't Jean-boy anymore. Her tone-deaf coddling wouldn't save him. Her simple, enduring optimism wouldn't improve her health, wouldn't bring his father back, and sure as hell wouldn't protect them when the walls fell and doom walked through their front door. Living with that kind of willful ignorance day-in and day-out was suffocating. He couldn't stand her tunnel vision; it was such a fucking insult.

Between the quiet desperation he felt at home and the unfortunate, combustive relationship he had formed with his peers outside of it, he had but one remaining reprieve…

He threw himself on his bed, tucked his hands behind his head, and let his mind wander. He looked forward to this all day. He imagined he was lying in the hollow body of a wooden rowboat or some kind of gondola, drifting along the canals, the water sparkling and clear and fragrant, a light breeze ruffling his hair as he dozed in the afternoon sun. He was in the interior, of course. The canals in the outer walls were used almost exclusively for transport; only the inner walls featured canals built for leisure.

There was a better world out there, a better life. He knew it because he could see it, and because he could see it, that meant it had to be out there…somewhere…

Yes, afternoons were for daydreaming. It was the only way he knew to endure this hell—the hell of being too sensitive, too aware—the hell of never being able to turn it off when everybody else around seemed to do it so easily.

Well, screw them. They could enjoy their ignorance. He'd be faithful to his truth, no matter how ugly or ignoble it might be. The truth was what mattered, above all else.

And the truth was he was scared. All the time. Every minute of every day. He wasn't foolish enough to believe that would ever go away for good, but he craved that freedom nevertheless. He had one life, and he wanted to live it without feeling the eye of a vengeful god fixed on him.

He had to get out.

* * *

"You three will join me in Hange's squad. Jean, go with Commander Erwin's squad."

Levi turned to go.

"Captain!"

Levi stopped. Armin spoke to the floor, knowing the nerve he was displaying might be unwelcome, and feeling guilt at the deceit he was about to participate in.

"I don't wish to contradict the commander's orders, but it seems possible that perhaps we may again encounter an intelligent Titan on our mission. Since Annie's prime objective was to capture Eren, it might also be the objective of other intelligent Titans to complete the mission that she failed to carry out. In this case, might I suggest that Jean accompany our squad, to act as a decoy, if we find it necessary."

Levi eyed Armin, an immediate conflict manifesting at the boy's suggestion. He found himself torn between his appreciation of the rookie's strategic intellect and his own commitment to Erwin and the chain of command. On one hand, Armin's suggestion was a valuable one. On the other, it was such an obvious tactic, one that Erwin probably should have considered already—something Levi could not confirm. If Levi agreed with Armin at any level, he would be put in the position to undermine Erwin's orders. He had to tread lightly.

"I'll consider your suggestion. For now, these are your orders. Get moving."

Armin watched him go, feeling the shame of dishonesty tugging at him once again. It's not that his suggestion was fully rooted in his selfish desire to ameliorate the ache of empathy he felt for Jean—he still thought his suggestion was worthwhile regardless, and would potentially give Eren the extra time he needed to heal if they were driven into circumstances that would require him to play a leading role. Rather, Armin knew this idea would never have occurred to him were it not for Jean's confession, which had affected him deeply and forced him to recall what he had seen that day in the rec room and once again become diseased with heartened hope and abstruse compassion.

He tried to reason his way out of his shame, arguing with himself that being cornered by his overpowering emotional sensibilities had actually made him a better soldier. His self-indulgence had pushed him to engineer a rather constructive and useful proposal—necessity was the mother of invention, after all. But he knew, deep down, that such rationale was misguided as it was arrogant. This time, he'd gotten lucky. If he continued to let his emotions get the best of him this way, his physical weakness would not be the only burden his comrades would have to carry.

It also occurred to him that no one would think to question his motives besides Jean, and only then because of the proximity of Armin's actions to his admission. Armin had earned his position as a person of integrity, who would act pragmatically in the interest of the group to a fault. And he'd just compromised himself profoundly. He pulled in a favor he hadn't even been asked for and violated the trust of his comrades to make it happen.

He was weak and he was pathetic…

…but he didn't regret himself.

The others stood behind him, and he did not look back—did not seek their approval—as he stepped forward, exiting Eren's room. He had made a decision, and he had to live with it now.

This was part of growing up.

* * *

Mikasa returned to the Military Police dormitory, showered, changed her clothes, and laid down for a brief rest. She knew she wouldn't be able to sleep properly, not with Eren in the state he was in and the news about Wall Rose.

She felt exposed. She knew when they joined the Scout Regiment that she would constantly be shielding Eren from harm, but she had no way of knowing that their lives would turn out like _this_. Eren wasn't just an overzealous greenhorn putting himself in harm's way…he was a target now, maybe _the_ target. Keeping him safe was turning out to be a full-time job and then some. They'd graduated barely two months ago, and she was already running on fumes, her energy utterly drained.

Despite the animus she felt toward him, she was thankful sometimes that Captain Levi was around to pick up the slack, even if he only saw Eren as a tool to be used. So far, it had been in everyone's interest for Eren to stay alive, but Mikasa knew that could all change in an instant. Then she might have to take Levi on head-to-head. She wasn't sure she could manage that, especially if this all kept up at the pace it had been going. She was only human, after all, regardless of what Shadis had written on her report card.

She turned on her side, pulling her pillow with her. The last light of the day was clinging to life. She stared into it, a tear slipping from her eye.

She tried not to think about them. They were gone forever. But she missed them.

" _Isn't your mother beautiful, Mikasa?"_

" _Yes, Daddy. Very beautiful."_

" _She's the most beautiful, wonderful woman in the world. We're very lucky to have her."_

" _Yes. We are."_

_Her father kissed her mother's cheek, touched his temple to hers as she busied herself with supper. She seemed to hum with contentment at his gentle touch. He moved to sit in his rocking chair near the fire, lifting Mikasa from her place on the floor, placing her on his lap, letting her fall against him as he rocked._

" _And your mother and I are lucky to have you. You're the most beautiful, wonderful girl in the whole world."_

_He kissed her head._

" _I am?"_

" _Oh, yes. You're a very special girl, Mikasa. I see it in your eyes."_

" _What do you see?"_

" _I see the person you'll grow up to be. She's very smart and brave and someone everyone wants to be like."_

" _And beautiful like Mommy?"_

_Her mother turned, smiling._

" _So beautiful. And everyone will be lucky to know her. I mean that, Mikasa. I'm certain of it."_

She shouldn't dwell on that life. It was long gone, and so was that person her father saw, whoever she was. Maybe she was brave, but all those other things…that wasn't her. She was just a loner with a singular purpose. No one understood her or what drove her, not even Eren, but she didn't care…

Most of the time…

Other times, she felt cold. And alone. Thinking of her parents, warmth spread over her, and she remembered what it felt like to be loved and cherished. She remembered feeling…happiness. It wasn't a romantic projection or a daydream—she'd been there, she'd felt these things. It was real. She was sure of it.

She tried to tell herself it wasn't so abnormal to become so serious in a world like theirs—that maybe it was just the halcyonic innocence of childhood fading like it did for all teenagers. That she was no different than anyone else.

But she knew that was a lie. She'd begun to feel this way long before her childhood had ended, ever since the day they'd died. They'd taken part of her with them when they went away, part of her that it seemed she would never get back. She could look around at the other cadets, and she could see it. She _was_ different. Even those who had experienced great loss like Eren and Armin…they weren't this aloof, this distant. Sometimes, it made her think of that woman her father spoke about…the one that everyone felt lucky to know.

Sometimes, she really did want to find her.


	5. Brothers in Arms

The moon was one of the few things that he really let himself have. He still found the sun kind of oppressive. He'd learned to tolerate it, but at first it had been painful and violent and unfriendly. Plus it showed just how dirty everything was. To think people found the sight of dust motes floating in the sunlight to be beautiful…it was no wonder he respected the opinions of so few.

He liked to watch the moon. He studied it in all of its forms. Sometimes there was a pinkish-hued ring around it. Other times it was as gold as the buttons on an officer's dress jacket. Some people said they could see a face in it. He wasn't sure he could, but it was certainly an interesting thought. Perhaps it was the face of a sadistic God, one who liked to watch them scurry about in fear, running for their lives. Or maybe it was the one lone human who'd managed to get off this godforsaken planet but still couldn't tear his eyes away from the distant massacre. In a way, both thoughts amused him. He had to get some fun out of life.

"Are you getting sentimental, Levi?"

"Just wondering if that bastard is ever going to come down from there."

"At this rate, it's not likely."

"What a disgusting coward."

Erwin smiled a little and followed Levi's example, craning his neck for just a moment to take in the waxing orb that was to him sacred and beautiful, if only because it remained untouched by the ugliness of this world.

"He's lucky. Let him enjoy it."

The two men looked at each other then, their smiles small and wry, but there was warmth behind them.

Simpatico. It was a word Levi had heard once, long ago, one he recalled from somewhere in the shuffled-and-reshuffled deck of inhumed memories from his strange and timeless past. It surfaced exclusively in Erwin's presence, and disappeared from his vocabulary entirely in his absence. It was an odd but not unwelcome sensation.

"The preparations are nearly complete. We'll depart in one hour. Or as soon as Hange can be found. She's hiding out again."

"She'll pop her head out when it's time. I'm going to join my team. Keep a close eye on those three. They are young and spry, but also fragile. Be safe."

Erwin moved to leave.

"Sir." He'd almost forgotten.

Erwin turned back. Levi continued.

"Armin Arlert has suggested a modification to the unit."

Levi stopped there out of respect. He would only proceed if he was asked to do so, even though he knew he would be.

"Go on."

"He asked that Jean Kirstein accompany the unit. To be used as Eren's double if needed."

Erwin was neutral. "I'd considered that."

"I figured you had." Levi dug deeper. "But you decided against it."

"Eren is going to the front lines. It doesn't seem as though a decoy would be necessary in that case. If we are going to use him, we can't always protect him."

Levi was unsatisfied. Maybe a contingency was unnecessary, but it never hurt to have the option. He didn't want to press the issue, but something told him there was a bigger stake at play.

"But that's not the only reason."

Erwin smiled. "I know you're not in the habit of reading the files of the new recruits, but according to Shadis, Yeager and Kirstein don't get along. He suggested keeping them separate where convenient."

Erwin didn't need to explain any further. Levi already understood.

He stood a little straighter. "I can't kill Titans right now, but I can still manage a squad."

Erwin conceded, trying his best to be gracious. "You're absolutely right." He didn't break Levi's gaze.

Levi knew better than to be offended. This man understood the sacrifice of lives for the betterment of the cause. He had put countless soldiers' lives on the line, and did not let their deaths deter him from continuing to do so time and time again, so long as he believed in his heart-of-hearts that the ends justified the means.

But, still, Levi wouldn't accept special treatment. They watched each other's faces as they mutually acknowledged their shared understanding of the situation at hand and how such a thing had come to pass. Erwin spoke at last.

"Take care, Captain Levi."

"Be well, Commander Erwin."

Both soldiers turned, moving in opposite directions, listening to each other's footfalls fading into the night, the man in the moon the only witness to the chance sighting of two souls touching, like a flare of holy light in a dark and indistinct universe.

* * *

Wall Rose…how…?

Is this how it was going to be from now on—plug one hole and another springs open?

Maybe they were doing this on purpose. Whoever it was that Annie was working with, maybe now all they wanted was to suss him out.

How awful. Finally humanity had some semblance of power, some way to tip the scale in their direction, and he was going to spend it like a maintenance man, running around fixing leaks in the roof. Not that he minded, but it was so goddamn unfair. It was as if they had gained no ground at all.

He really screwed up, letting Annie get away. That would have made all the difference. This soft heart, sometimes he wanted to rip it out.

"Eren, wear it right. It's cold at night."

He was so lost in thought, he forgot where he was. Mikasa pulled his cape around his shoulders, admonishing him in that firm, feminine way that he'd come to expect from her these days.

When they were kids, it was impossible to think of her that way—back when she just would beat him into submission when he was acting foolish. It really pissed him off. She really had no damn right to toss him about like a rag doll whenever she disagreed with him. But she had gotten better. A lot better. It was almost hard to believe the young woman sitting at his bedside holding his hand was the matured manifestation of that austere girl-child, the one who had no compunction at all about using might to make right.

" _It's a debt I won't forget."_

He didn't want to cause her anymore trouble. Not her, not Armin, not anyone. He could never be sure if he was worth their lives, nor could he know if their sacrifice had anything at all to do with the fate of humanity. It was all too messy.

He felt eyes on him. Buchwald entered his periphery. So Jean was coming with them after all. Well, at least there was one person around he didn't have to worry would die for the sake of his personal well-being. Jean's presence was grating, but even that had begun to feel comfortable to him.

Eren needed all of these things. He needed Mikasa's protectiveness, Armin's worry, Levi's nonchalance, Hange's eagerness, Jean's antagonism—he needed it all. He needed all of them to be on his side and to never go away. He felt himself going places he never imagined, and it was no longer his choice. His body was no longer his to own. His identity was fading in and out—a flickering flame in a black, black night.

He had to hold onto these things. They were his proof that he existed, that he was still here.

_Armin…Mikasa…_

… _if I disappear, please remember me._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear to God, this *is* a Jeankasa story. Also, I haven't read the entire manga yet, so I hope like hell my character histories are on point.


	6. The Force of the Blow

Jean woke alone.

He sat up, stick straight, panic ripping through him, the pain of a hundred needles stabbing all around his rapidly beating heart, paralyzing him. His stomach clenched hard.

They'd left him. He must have passed out, and they just took off on their horses and left him. His shoulders drew toward his ears as he searched left to right for a single soul, but there was no one. One hand lifted to clutch his chest, all of the pain and tension deepening with his growing fear.

He looked down at his legs and torso. No gear. He was on top of the wall, in the dark, with no gear–not even a jacket to keep him warm. His hands, his legs, his whole damn body was trembling as he pushed himself to his feet, a towering pulse of vertigo threatening to knock him right back onto his defiant ass.

His white pants were the only thing he could really make out in the moonless night. The vapor of his breath reminded him it was cold. He shivered hotly, his skin uncomfortably sticky with sweat which confused and irritated him for how it contrasted with the chill around him. He looked out across the horizon, hoping to see torches in the blackness. Nothing.

He clutched his head. He couldn't remember what happened. He struggled to piece it together, the images spinning in his mind like a flickering zoetrope.

Eren had Reiner. He had him! The chips of broken armor from his splintering back had whizzed right by them. The thick, nauseating smell of blood clouded the air and misted his face.

But then he heard Connie, screaming down to them from above, the tone of his voice still bright even in its terror. He saw the Colossal Titan falling down toward Eren, the naked skull with its huge gaping mouth a thing of nightmares. The blast of steam that hit them felt like the hand of God, and his eyes couldn't help but squint to try and make out the distant tree through the brutal haze. He saw her body being lifted and tossed with horrifying objectivity. He aimed himself in her direction, ready to push off the wall, but felt the entirety of his physical being helplessly blown backward instead.

He couldn't help it–he called her name. "MIKASA!"

At this distance, she didn't look powerful at all. She looked as helpless and fragile as anyone. And she was probably dead. That was the last thought he had before he blacked out.

He covered his mouth with his hand, choking back a sob. He began to run along the top of the wall, his standard issue boots clapping on the stone, echoing into the vacant midnight.

"Armin! Mikasa! Eren! Where are you?"

" _I don't see any bad wounds, so I'm guessing it's a concussion."_

He skidded to a halt. He heard voices. He spun around, saw the steel railroad tracks leading into the infinite dark, but he was still alone. He called again.

"Armin!"

Maybe he was dead. He was scared, so very scared. He didn't want to be alone anymore. His feet lifted and fell of their own accord, backing him away from something threatening he could not see. He felt his right foot come down and hit air.

He fell.

* * *

"Gah!" His leg jerked and his body seized. The sun was painfully bright. 

"Jean!"

He pinched his eyes shut, but the sun was still there. He could see it through his lids. They glowed red, and he could see the web of dark blood vessels spun through the thin flesh. He cracked one eye experimentally, blinking until the ache in his raw nerves began to abate.

Armin was kneeling at his side, eyes wide. His body felt like stone. He couldn't move. Those fucking shits had paralyzed him! The pace of his breath quickened as he panicked, and a dry cough seized him.

Nevermind. He wasn't paralyzed. You couldn't be paralyzed and be in this much pain.

Armin helped him sit up as he sputtered and choked. His salivary glands finally decided to wake up and partake in their assigned duties and he wetted his mouth, his lips, soothing away the cough as he examined the absurd spectacle at hand. Practically every soldier was down for the count, with just a handful of others nursing dozens of their prone comrades. They'd all been stripped of their gear and jackets, no doubt to facilitate examinations by these ersatz medics, and in this light, the fallen Scouts looked shockingly vulnerable and…human. Gone were their war faces, their tactical accoutrements—instead, he was greeted by a sea of peaceful expressions and clothing that was practically civilian.

He looked down at himself, and it was the same. Just like his dream. And at his side, there she was. He felt the look of hurt and panic yaw his features, and Armin noticed right away.

"I think she's okay. She's just unconscious."

Jean looked back at Armin, his heavy hand grasping his comrade's slight shoulder, pulling him closer.

"Armin. What happened here?"

"Eren's gone. Ymir, too. Reiner and Bertholt took them and escaped."

"How long have I been out?"

"About 4 hours."

Jean sighed. This was a war of attrition. This was hell.

Bertholt. Reiner. Jean felt the loss of his comrades moving deep inside him, like a black worm burrowing through the core of an apple, rotting it from the inside out. Such a shift in the things one holds so true…he still didn't want to believe it. This thing with Annie and now those guys—it was upending their whole lives. He never thought there would be someone in his life he despised more than Eren, but they had really outdone themselves. And Eren was becoming more and more like a partner to him with each passing day. Eren understood his hate and his rage. Together they might be able to accumulate enough wrath to burn the whole world down.

But right now he was too tired to be angry. He wanted to lie back down and rest his perpetually aching bones, but he didn't feel comfortable doing so this close to Mikasa. She was mere inches away, and he couldn't help but feel the intimacy of their proximity and shared vulnerability. He wanted to touch her so badly, wanted to hold her in his arms. She made him feel fiercely protective, like a man tasked with guarding a precious otherworldly treasure that could not possibly be replaced…instead of what he actually was—a confused and frightened boy with a wild crush.

He inched away from her, putting a respectful arm's length between them, still enjoying the memory of being so close to her. He settled back down on the cool stone, watching the clouds drift past, the sky as blue and as peaceful as he had ever seen it. Oh, the incongruities of this beautiful, stupid world.

"We're just waiting for the horse lifts to arrive. Then we'll have to go after them. We have to get Eren back."

Jean didn't reply. He had nothing useful to say. He breathed shallowly and held his body rigidly still, new depths of pain emerging at each inhalation.

What a ridiculous person he'd turned out to be. Going on and on for years about joining the Military Police, and then he'd run off and done the exact opposite. He still didn't quite know why. He supposed it was the horror of that day in Trost…the horror of seeing Marco, who had died alone with no one to witness him. Being confronted with the perilous truth of their lives and their situation, he just couldn't turn away from it after that day. He would keep fighting until he died, and today would be no different.

"It always ends up this way."

Jean looked up at Armin. His voice was quiet, his eyes steady on his knees. He paused, staring into a void that Jean could not see.

This was a confession, Jean realized. He couldn't turn away from this either. Armin needed someone, and he was the only one left to listen. He waited patiently, didn't move or reply. Just listened.

"I'm always the last one standing. Eren and Mikasa are both so strong. They always jump in without hesitation. I've always been too weak. I can't do anything to protect them."

"I think Eren already has a protector." Jean hated the sadness in his own voice.

Armin smiled—a watery smile full of innocence and sentimentality, which, despite what his wide-eyed, angelic-faced comrade thought, was not at all silly or embarrassing, because it was so remarkably genuine and something like that should never be a source of shame. At least Jean thought so.

"Yes, he does. He does. But sometimes she needs protecting, too." Armin's eyes moved past Jean to the recumbent form of his childhood friend. Not only did the scratches and bruises fail to detract from the pale beauty of her passive face, they gave her a sense of grace, an air of vulnerability that simply wasn't there when she was awake. When she was fighting, they were the marks of a warrior, fastidious and austere and necessary. But the way she wore them now told the story of sacrifice and loss. She was a survivor, and to be a survivor, you have to have lost something.

Jean looked at his feet, the horizon completely out of view from this height. Over the edge of the wall, it was just an endless sky pouring out ahead of them. His question still burned. It was time to get an answer.

"Why...why does Mikasa care about Eren so much?"

He wouldn't look at Armin. Wouldn't press him to answer. Either he would or he wouldn't.

"Mikasa used to live with Eren. She was adopted by his parents. He's the only family she has left."

It was the standard reply. Jean already knew all of that—all of the 104th did. He supposed it was Armin's way of telling him not to pry. He closed his eyes. He'd leave it alone.

"I don't know everything, but I know that her parents were killed by criminals." Jean's eyes snapped open, a tiny noise escaped his mouth. Armin's tone was cautious but still honest. He was trusting Jean with this buried history. "It's my understanding that Eren saved her life. After that, Dr. Yeager took her home to live with them. That's when we met."

Jean finally turned to look at her. So his suspicions were accurate: he really knew nothing at all about this girl. There was a life and a story inside of her that existed far beyond his ability to reach. In an instant, she seemed so much further away, knowing now about her past and the things she had already endured long before he even knew her name. Being envious of Eren seemed rather foolish in retrospect. It was obvious their bond was both very deep and very real, and his silly one-sided attraction really meant nothing at all to anyone but himself and never would.

"I shouldn't have asked."

"No. It's good for you to know." He turned back to Armin, and found his expression was determined. "Mikasa is strong, but she needs someone to look after her, too. She risks her life too easily, too willingly."

Armin's eyes moved back to his knees, a grim, adamant expression weighing his brow. "She doesn't value her own life the way she should."

Jean watched him, speechless. Where was this coming from? Armin was struggling with something, something he did not fully seem to comprehend, and was tugging Jean along into the gray.

Armin seemed to catch himself, tried to shake off the seriousness of the mood chuckling shortly in a broken, helpless sort of way. "When you asked for my help, I have to admit, I welcomed it. I know it's selfish, but I thought to myself, 'Maybe now Mikasa will have someone to look after her, too.'"

Jean's eyes grew wider, but Armin continued just the same. "I know it's a lot to ask, I know it's not my place…but will you? Will you look after her? Will you take care of her, even if it means risking your life?"

Armin's face was even and self-possessed as he waited for Jean's response, but his eyes were imploring.

Jean looked away. Now he understood. At long last, he replied in a mutinous tone. "Just try and stop me."

He looked up at Armin, a roguish smile playing on his lips. Armin nodded eagerly, conveying a sincere belief in the sentiment Jean had expressed. He smiled brightly, hugging his knees, blinking quickly, an errant tear of relief and love falling from his eye.

Jean lay back, taking in the diaphanous clouds once more, feeling relieved himself. 

He turned back to Mikasa. A clean breeze washed over them, caressing his face and lifting pieces of her lovely black hair, and a surge of euphoria hit him square in the chest, warming the cockles of his cynical little heart—which was turning out to be not quite so sneeringly disdainful after all, but instead was merely ensconced in an unsavory mélange of skepticism, derision, and condescension—a paradigm he'd once deemed vital to a thriving existence in this chaotic, uncomfortable universe.

But he was learning. He found himself surrounded on all sides by this trio of broken children, their hands joined and singing a nursery rhyme in unison while he stood dumbly in the center of their circle, trying to figure out how they'd come to know all of these wonderful things that he did not. They each seemed to embody parts of himself that wanted to break free from behind the fifty meter wall of distrust that he had built—Eren was his conscience and spirit, Armin his mind, his curiosity. And Mikasa was his heart.

Yes. He seemed to love her in part as an extension of his lost self. But that didn't mean his love for her was any less real. It was more real than anything he'd ever known, and if he had to die to keep her from harm, goddamnit, he'd do it and he'd do it with style.


	7. Uninvited

Mikasa shifted her weight from right foot to left. Left foot to right. Right to left. This strategy session was burning through a reservoir of patience she simply did not have, threatening to leave her completely soul-dead. Teamwork was something she'd never really gotten the hang of. She participated only at the behest of her superiors, and even then, sometimes it was just as a courtesy. She needed to be allowed to  _go_.

She couldn't stop the images from assailing her—

The Armored Titan scaling Wall Maria, ripping out chunks of the neglected brick. Eren wrapped in Reiner's treacherous fingers. The yellow limestone plates of the Armored Titan's retreating back vanishing into the blue shadows of the outer world, of which even she was afraid.

Eren swept away forever.

Her heart trembled like the wings of a slow-dying sparrow. She closed her eyes and all she could see were those eager jade orbs, the bright glow of his innocent smile.

She couldn't take much more. Her whole body was burning. Her limbs had lost sensation. Her vision was cloudy. Fury was coming off her in hot waves.

She hated Reiner and Bertholdt. Not because they'd broken the wall. Not because they had taken her foster parents from her. Not even because they had stolen Eren. No, she hated them because they reminded her that she was—at the most critical moment—merely human. Her palm had twitched on the heavy-handled blade at her inconveniently feminine hips, but she couldn't bring herself to draw it. If she had slayed them even thirty seconds sooner, they wouldn't have seen it coming and they never would have been able to transform.

They never would have been able to take Eren away.

She hesitated and her worst fears had come true. All that she had done to this point was truly meaningless. She had failed to protect the one person she'd sworn to always put above herself from the two people who could do him the most harm. She was just like everyone else. Weak, fearful. Human.

_They're going to wish they'd never touched him._

She blinked in self-reproach, trying to hold back tears, and shifted her vision away from Hange's map. Her eyes couldn't help but cross the divide to where Jean was kneeling, listening intently to the exhausted section commander's instructions.

**_Just try and stop me._ **

She froze. A cold blade of uncertainty slashed through her racing thoughts, stilling her worried mind. She averted her gaze, overcome with an unfamiliar sense of embarrassment. Her ears were warm and her hair seemed to be all out of place. She swept a piece behind her ear, smoothing it down to the ends, her fingers caressing the side of her neck.

She had woken to the sound of Armin's voice—which always possessed the contemplative gravitas of a voice inside one's own head—and he was speaking at length about, of all things, her.

She had been dreaming…of Eren…and how he was always…just out of reach…

She felt someone stirring at her side…she knew she was defenseless…the feeling drew her forward, outward from the soft infinity, back into the inescapable agony of …(sigh)…the real world…the world of pearl-white skulls and dying stars…

_but sometimes she needs protecting too_

_why does mikasa care about eren so much_

_mikasa used to live with eren she was adopted by his parents hes the only family she has left_

The words were there, but they seemed to have no meaning.

_i don't know everything but I know that her parents were killed by criminals. it's my understanding that Eren saved her life. after that Dr Yeager took her home to live with them._

Her thoughts began to glow, like a firefly coming to life on the waxy, curved leaf of a bush in the balmy summer dusk.

_That's when we met._

Armin. Her spirit reached out for him, but her body was fixed in place, her joints rigid and immovable, no human spark left in her to fight against the dispassionate eternal forces of the universe which dutifully kept her at rest.

_I shouldn't have asked._

Her mind was rattled. She recognized Jean's voice, but she never heard it sound quite this way before. It was stripped of the usual arrogance, the nervy cocksure, reduced down to a naked, intense whisper with unexpected depths. The unfamiliar tone seemed to prick a nerve in her ear, causing a tingle to run over her scalp.

She could feel him. He was nearer to her than Armin. She wasn't sure she liked that.

Why were they talking about her?

She was quite awake now and quite alarmed. Outrage and indignation began to thrum in her temples. Her jaw tightened. What gave them the right?

Her face wanted to grimace, but she fought hard to be still.

_No. It's good for you to know. Mikasa is strong, but she needs someone to look after her, too. She risks her life too easily, too willingly. She doesn't value her own life the way she should._

Huge tears began to well in her closed eyes. The floodgates shuddered, threatening to unleash a lifetime of frustration and wanting, but, in spite of the burning pain, she held her lids still. She breathed evenly. Her natural stoicism did nothing to aid her in the Herculean feat of remaining totally lifeless on the outside when a scarlet-hued tempest raged inside.

_When you asked for my help, I have to admit, I welcomed it. I know it's selfish, but I thought to myself, 'Maybe now Mikasa will have someone to look after her, too.'_

She was convinced her chest was going to cave in, that her fingertips were going to shoot sparks, that she was going to go fucking blind if she didn't open her eyes soon. But she had to know…

_I know it's a lot to ask, I know it's not my place…but will you? Will you look after her? Will you take care of her, even if it means risking your life?_

Silence fell over all three of them. Her mind went blank.

_**Just try and stop me.** _

She sucked in a gasp that wanted to escape.

She didn't want to hear another word. She could almost see the look on his face…

It's not that it didn't make sense. It made perfect sense.

_"You know, Mikasa, that's quite a deep gash on your face. When did you get it?"_

" _Mikasa. Y-you're alive!"_

_"Huh? Are you stupid?! I bet my whole dinner on Mikasa."_

There was no surprise except that she was finally in a position to hear it and put a name to it—that thing which lived between their world and another that she could only see when her eyes were closed.

" _You have beautiful black hair."_

But she didn't want to know it, did not want to be responsible for it. It was inconvenient. It was untoward.

It scared the shit out of her.

The foreignness of being made to bestow any real consideration on anyone but herself, Eren, or Armin was a threat to the insular world that fate had crafted for her—the one in which the three of them sat side-by-side on stone steps and gazed at bright stars in dark skies forever. They were an archipelago floating in a vast ocean in one of Armin's banned books. Maybe it hadn't been her choice for things to turn out this way, but now that she was here, this was the way she wanted it.

An involuntary pang of annoyance twisted her frayed nerves as she regarded Jean now, sideways through her lashes. He had no idea what she'd overheard. His face was passive, listening to Hange along with all the other soldiers. It was just another day for him.

"Are you okay?" Armin whispered, breaking her reverie. "You look angry."

She nodded, unable to look at him. "I'm fine."

She didn't want to be upset with Armin, but she was. She knew he meant her no harm. And he had expressed such an ardent, selfless desire to see that she was kept safe, but…

He'd kept a secret from her. Kept a secret and deceived her.

" _In this case, might I suggest that Jean accompany our squad, to act as a decoy, if we find it necessary."_

The betrayal stung like a slap in the mouth. In her mind, she heard the echoed sobs of her younger self, years gone, brutalized by some tiny, trivial slight that in the eyes of a child seemed so savage.

Did she really command so little respect? Maybe it was her own fault…for being so pathetic. She wanted to see Eren so badly—she needed something familiar and constant to ground her in this sideways world she'd been shoved into—and she knew she was doing it even now. She was losing herself to her overpowering attachment to Eren. She had no agency, no autonomy. It was no wonder people thought of her as someone who could be toyed with.

She shook herself. She was being silly. Armin didn't see her that way. This was just self-indulgent self-pity from a self-conscious girl—a girl who didn't want to be burdened with anyone's feelings and wanted someone to blame. The impulse to be scornful had come hard and fast, but was followed almost immediately by prickling feelings of guilt and remorse.

Her eyes fell. All he'd done was like her. What was so wrong about that?

_**Just try and stop me.** _

Her mind pleaded with an invisible arbitrator. _'You can't say that about a person you barely know. You just can't.'_

Who the hell did he think she was? Who the hell did he think  _he_  was? Was she supposed to find that romantic? If he thought so, he was sorely mistaken.

Except she wasn't supposed to hear it at all. It had been her choice to listen in. He hadn't meant for her to know…

Gold light spread across the stone at her feet, and she looked up, shielding her eyes.

The clouds had parted. The scales had fallen. The season turned from spring to autumn. She had gotten older. She felt like a shipwrecked bride standing on an island beach in her tattered gown, realizing finally, once and for all, that no one was coming to her rescue.

But there was a freedom in that.


End file.
